


The Lights Cannot Blind You On Stage

by imperiality (orphan_account)



Series: Just a Small Town Girl [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ballet, Dancer Allura, Dancing, F/M, Fluff, Music, musician keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 11:53:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15000341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/imperiality
Summary: What's to happen when Allura quits the ballet, and she and Keith move? When she becomes contemporary and Keith's music is struggling to take off?Life, of course.And it feels right.





	The Lights Cannot Blind You On Stage

**Author's Note:**

> Of course, all thanks and praise belongs to @Tourmaline for having the idea to begin with. As a matter of fact, is this even my fic with a prompt this good?

Allura quit the ballet.

Keith had no contentions.

They moved on.

Allura did the ballet. It was her thing for a little bit. She’ll never forget how it felt when she’d finally broken in a new pair of pointe shoes; the satin moulding to her feet. The leather bending to her arch. She’ll never forsake the rise and flutter and fall of her countless tutus. All those misplaced bobby pins. The finger pricks of sewing ribbons too quickly.

Ballet was the Thing. And now it is no longer.

Keith didn’t totally get it at first. Guitar was all he’s ever had and he was sure that’s all he’d ever know. If his callouses don’t tell him anything; if the permanent weight on his shoulders didn’t tell him anything; if the ringing chords didn’t tell hm anything- guitar was for him.

As an ever-present catalyst, Allura encouraged change.

“Why not drums? You have a quiet, precise aggression that’s perfect for percussion.”

He didn’t know what to make of that. He thought he was flattered.

“Or maybe the keys? You’d be even more desirable than you already are.”

So… he was definitely flattered, there. And something else.

“Or- why not bass a try?” Why not. “It’s like the same… but different!” She considers. “No?”

Even as quickly as Keith knew he could learn bass, the guitar was his Thing. The one- no. The _first_ lover he couldn’t leave.

Then school ended for them. Allura dropped her ballet classes once and for all. Keith become old enough to teach at the music shop, himself.

Change change change _change_ -

So Allura wanted out.

She wanted new.

She wanted no more.

“Darling,” she had said. “Come with me.”

She wanted so _much_ more.

“Come with you… come. Come where, where are you going?”

“This quiet was fine for little bit Keith, but.” She ran her fingers over his arm. “This place isn’t for me.” Recited her incantation. “I need something bigger.” Cast her spell.

“Bigger?”

Allura smiled. “And I want you to come with me.”

So Keith had a choice. He had been born and bred and nurtured and natured with “stay”. She had made her mantra _go._

Her asking him to go?

“ _Together?_ ”

He’s a velvet doll Allura loves slipping her needles into.

“Yes, together! There’s no better time, too! We have so little to lose! It would be me and my duffle bag. You and your guitar case.”

Did Keith want to go?

“It would be you and I,” her voice was a ball. “Against the world.” Her words were a chain.

Any change regarding Allura will never come slow, Keith knew that much. He knew that he could say no. He knew if it was too much, he could always come back.

He kew that Allura needed more and she needed bright and she was made to live.

He knew that his whole world expanded little beyond his city limits. He knew that Allura is one of the best things to ever happen to him.

Keith knew he was out of his depths.

He knew he wanted to say yes.

 

She told her dad. She told her ballet instructor. He told his dad. He told his guitar teacher.

They told them that “we’re trying DC first. If it doesn’t work, then Florida. If that doesn’t work, we’re heading back up north.” They were told, “Isn’t this rather sudden? Have you thought this through? Will you have the money? Will you have the discipline?” They told them, “Yes. Yes. Yes, _yes_.”

They told them they had to go.

Shiro was the only one good enough to ask “Is this what you want to do?”

Alfor was the only one concerned enough to ask “How can I help?”

Faith. Faith was all they’d need.

With their bags packed and road paved for them, they no longer stayed passive collateral to change.

Together, Keith and Allura walked into something new.

 

—

 

Allura smiles thinking about those days- sun-kissed in their memories- ink faded from how many times she’s caressed their manifest. All around her she’s surrounded with sun-kissed, flower-falling, snow-bitten or autumn-tinted memories. Curved photo after photo outlines her vanity’s frame. The hot bulbs threatened to melt them too many times, so she moved them lower.

 _Not that I even need to see my eyes, anyway,_ she snickers. _Not when Nyma nightlines them for me._

The lights from her vanity, the lights from backstage, the lights from the house- they’re all the New Allura has been looking for.

(Another light waits for her in the pit).

Contemporary has become her Thing. It welcomed her with open arms. The moment she untied her satin pink ribbons, different shoes started calling to her. Jazz she tried on for a bit; they didn’t suit her. Then she found the half soles. Then she found where she needed to be.

Keith chauffeured her to every audition he could. He worked out with her to keep her form sharp, (let his hands wander to keep her smile smooth.) He clapped for her, Allura’s roaring crowd when she danced out new choreography.

She was irresistible.

There wasn’t a dance she didn't get cast in.

There wasn’t a show that Keith didn’t go to.

Allura’s light kept shining brighter, she was made and followed the path to Up and to light.

But what happened to her when orchestrations no longer lead and guided her very breath across the stage? What was she supposed to be guided by now, if classic and antiquated no longer became her?

(Isn’t it obvious by now? There were new sounds to move to.)

While Allura’s light guided her up, Keith’s light guided him down. Naturally, Allura was apprehensive for his descent.

“You know I asked you to come with me because I thought this could be something we’d both love.”

There’s no shortage of love from Keith as far as Allura is concerned.

Choppy, lowly and slowly he strung out a new love. It wasn’t easy or gracious. It was honest and humble.

“Remember when you said I should try the drums?”

That must’ve been years ago at this point. By now, Allura only feels contrite that she suggested it at all. “I do remember, Keith.”

“Right. And you remember how you said I should try piano?” Allura nods. “And the drums.”

“Yes, Keith. I remember all of that. What does-“

“Well I’ve been working…” He swirls his thumbs over each other. “I have something to show you. I haven’t told you about it cause…”

Suddenly, she puts together late nights he’d been pulling. Frantic eyes at long hours of the evening. There’s been too much busy. Too much sneaky. She knows there’s something Keith has been hiding.

“I haven’t invited you over to the apartment in a while because I’ve been working on this project.”

He leads her past his studio’s room, behind a curtained partition.

“A project?”

“Try not to, um.” He stops pulling back the canvas drape a moment to collect his thoughts. “To ah,” Collection for him happens in negative degrees. “Right.” He ties both sides back, letting papers, pencils, stands to roll and waver.

Allura recognizes that paper anywhere.

“This is,” Keith sweeps a hand out. “This is the project.”

The woman holds her breath. She takes a step forward. With eager, nearly shaking hands she peels and parses through folders and papers. Whole stacks are paper clipped together, scribbled, _mutilated_ in red pen.

Scores upon scores litter the floor. Keith’s mind is bared open for her.

His project is something she’s only entertained in her dreams.

As she holds the sheet music in her hands, she doesn’t want to let go. How could she run the risk of letting the dream end? She must hold on to each memory, let every sensation seep in in case she forgets when she wakes up.

“What is all this?”

“It’s kind of… a lot of things.” Keith shrugs. “Not really. It’s all just music I’ve been playing around with.”

Allura can read every note on the page, though. She’s not fluent in musical notation but she knows it when she sees it. She knows enough that the smudging is too crisp to be a dream. The red is too blaring to be a dream. Keith’s breath is too sharp and too near and too frazzled to be a dream.

“Keith,” she breathes. “This isn’t just ‘playing around.’”

He knows.

“It’s beautiful, darling! I-“ She whips her gaze from the music in her hand to the storm in Keith’s eyes. “Can you play some?”

He thought she’d never ask. “I’ll do you one better.”

Ushering them away from the curtained corner, he holds her hand to lead them back to his room. She takes a seat in front of his laptop. She raises a brow. He lowers his headphones to her ears.

He presses play.

“ _Oh,_ ” she sighs.

If she hadn’t been dreaming before, she is now. A full band flanks the leading guitar melody of Keith’s creation. Sultry brasses and light woodwinds all weave in and around his plucking guitar.

But… there’s a certain kind of flair there. A certain kind of flair that’s, dare she say it, _familiar_?

He only plays a few seconds of that piece, then moves on to another in the score. It’s slow and heavy. Contemplative. It reminds her of her adagios. The next one is so light and so fast and so free, it makes her want to rip the headphones off and _fouette_ to it.

A new song plays.

Something clicks.

Gently, Allura lowers the headphones to her shoulders. Keith stops the music. Her mind spins and tangles further.

“Keith.” Gentle, gentle. Gentle is her tone. Gentle is her gaze.

“Yeah?” Guarded. Guarded is his stance. Guarded is his heart.

“I know this wasn’t just ‘playing around.’” She scans her eyes over the sheer number of music he’s already recorded. “This is a full, finished score.” She notes its distinctive professional quality. “I’m sure you’ve had help?”

“I had a few guys come over.”

She’s scared to ask how many “a few” is. She’s scarce to dwell on the time it took. She can appreciate the music for its beauty, for its ingenuity but that can’t be it. Allura cannot let it rest, her mind will not rest so she _must_ ask:

“Did… Did you write this for me?”

Keith is scarce to deny. “Shiro actually came over to help, too.” In fact, he is scarce to answer her in any way.

She takes the bate anyway.

“ _Shiro came_?” she shrieks. “And you didn’t tell me? He didn’t tell me? How could so many people keep this secret for so long?” How; a very good question. “Why didn’t anyone tell me Shiro came?”

Slowly Keith approaches her, laying his hands on her shoulders. “Allura, Allura. He can take another day trip. Probably. Sometime soon.” He tries for a smile. “I asked him to come because I wanted his feedback and help me finalize everything. I asked him to keep it a secret because…”

“Because?”

There’s no way. Could it be that… Keith? Is he… Embarrassed?

“I was scared.”

The woman can hardly believe it. He sure was. But whatever could he be embarrassed of? For what could he be embarrassed.

Allura repeats, "Did you write this, all of this, for me?”

Keith can’t have his resolved crumble when it’s already shattered. Meekly, slowly, aching he nods.

It was all for her.

Every sweeping melody, every note poured out, every sheet and scribble and song. It’s overwhelming. It’s overpowering.

“It’s giving me an idea.”

She tugs the headphones from his laptop. She rummages around his studio, trying to find his spare aux speakers. She finds them, shuffles back to the room, connects it to the laptop and hits play again.

“I can see myself dancing to this.”

It’s so reminiscent it hurts.

“Really?” Keith tilts his head coyly. “Please do.”

She's so powerful it’s humbling.

She shakes herself out to get limber, then she gets going. For only a couple minutes at a time, she samples out his score, letting the music move her as it pleases. Some songs only last a couple minutes themselves so she makes those count.

The more she dances, the less she wants to stop dancing. The more she thinks how quickly Keith whipped out an entire score for her, how he asked a whole team of his friends to help complete it with him, how she was the reason for it all to be written- the less she wants the music to ever end.

At the very beginning, Keith didn't have to write that song for her, but he did. Keith didn't have to move to New York with her, but he did. He didn't have to drive her to auditions. He didn't have to come to her shows or recitals. He didn’t have to write her an entire bloody _score_ , yet he did.

It's time for her to do something in return.

She kisses his cheek. She whispers the promise of something else and more and different in his ear. She wraps her hands around his neck. It’s all well and good, but it’s only the start.

 

—

 

The next time she finds herself in front of her vanity, Allura stares long and hard at her reflection. When Nyma comes with her arms loaded, kit and caboodle, Allura stairs long and hard at her, too. Nyma raises an eyebrow. Allura keeps her gaze. Nyma takes no step closer. Allura slips out of her chair.

“Something you need, Allura?”

She stands before her. The air is ever shifting, tinted with Allura’s considering. Then her wonder. Now with her _passion_.

“Yes, Nyma. Actually, there is.”

The woman blows a bubble. Snaps the gum with her teeth. “Yeah?”

“I need to speak with the conductor.”

“You mean Kolivan?” Nyma twirls her gum out around her finger.

Allura takes her leave. “I mean Kolivan.” She marches to the pit.

Dancers twirl and hop and glide out of her way when she walks on stage. Hastily she steps over stretching limbs and pointing toes. She weaves her way around her company and brings herself down to Kolivan’s level.

On the last step just before she breaches into the audience, she calls out over the orchestra,

“Mr. Kolivan!"

He lowers his raised hands. He awaits her word.

“I think I have something for you that you’d quite enjoy.”

Oh this he has to hear. “And what is this thing?”

She swishes her feet, tracing her toe along the carpet, leading her way towards his stand. She thinks he can hardly wait to enjoy what she has in mind.

“This thing is going to make your job much easier.” She sucks her lip. “Or harder. Depends on you."

When she sat before her vanity to change, she did little more than take off her purse. It matters not now, since she always keeps her phone on her person. She pulls it out of her pocket. Holds it in her hand. Raises it towards your ear.

“This thing is something I’m sharing with you on a loan.”

Presses the numbers in, and calls her lover.

Immediately Keith picks up and immediately his confusion spikes. “Hey ‘Lura. Shouldn’t you be rehearsing now?”

“Funny story about that-,” she lays on “- _dear_ ” thick.

“Funny story… what's the story. What's up, are you okay?” On Keith's side, she can hear shuffling and rustling.

“I’m okay, I'm good. I'm great, actually.” As far as anyone’s concerned, she's bloody fantastic. “But I had a quick little question for you.”

Kolivan only interrupts with a tricky eyebrow raise.

“Yeah?”

Allura asks, “Are you at your apartment right now?”

The shuffling stops. “I... am?”

Poor thing. Allura will give no leads. “Do you have your laptop on?”

“Yeah, it’s on. Allura, what's going on?”

“I want you to play some of your symphony.”

Kolivan’s other brow raises the same.

Oh yes. He heard correctly.

Symphony.

Still bewildered and still confused beyond forgiveness, Keith’s warbled voice cracks through the speaker. “Play it right now?"

But the conductor holds up a hand. Softly, slowly, decisively he shakes his head.

Allura’s expression isn't tricky but a _test._

_Quick thinking quick thinking..._

“Yes, right now. Kolivan wants to hear what you're working on.”

He stills.

Allura hardens.

“Oh. Uh, okay. I guess I can play the first track, but it isn’t going to play over well.”

Kolivan dares her to continue. Allura hardly needs to be dared in any case.

Tinny and thin, Keith’s music plays over the phone and the woman only stares stares stares.

Kolivan holds his hand over her phone's speaker. He speaks in low tones. She refuses to be threatened.

"What are you doing?”

Her thinking finally comes quick enough. While Keith’s song plays on, Allura lifts her chin and brushes her shoulders. She lifts her gaze above Kolivan’s withering posture and breezily offers, “You may listen to Keith's song, or-“ Or what. All of the stakes raise too high in the company's favor. She has to count on her worth and their need for her presence. She goes for it. “Listen or Plaxum takes my place in the show.”

It's less of an offer, and more of an ultimatum.

Ah. It seems to work in his favor. Kolivan betrays his monochrome expressions, bursting into the bright green of surprise. The woman wedges the needle deeper.

“Your choice."

Kolvian snatches her phone. “Very well.”

Standing in the silenced orchestra pit, they listen to Keith’s smooth and grooving guitar. Kolivan doesn’t let his emotion betray him again. Allura only opens her face more and more expectantly.

The song ends. The static crackles a few moments before Keith’s timid voice rises again.

“Was that it?”

Allura meets Kolivan’s eyes unwavering as she says to Keith, “That's it, dear. I'll let you know what Kolivan thought when I come over. I’ll see you later.”

With barely a hum of musing from the other end, Allura ends the call. She waits for Kolivan to take his move.

“That was…” Kolivan thinks. “That was enjoyable,” he concedes.

“It was. Wasn't it.” Her tone is far to heavy for Kolivan’s liking, but he’ll let her have her way for now.

"Now here’s what I want.” Allura pockets her phone. “I'll stay with the company, no need to resort to hysterics.” She swishes her way back to the stage-side steps. “But I only stay if Keith joins me.” She peers down at him from upmost stage left. “And I dance _only_ -“ she points, “to his music.”

“And this isn’t hysteria?” Kolivan says just short of scoffing.

“Oh, didn’t you hear?” Allura feels so unbelievably powerful. So unfathomably worthy. So pricelessly cheeky right now, she can't help but say “This is show business, darling."

 

\--

 

About a week later, a reluctant voicemail finds its way into the mix of Keith’s monotony. As he deletes droning call after call, he almost deletes Kolivan’s message by reflex. He holds his thumb up at the last moment, furrowing his brow over the unfamiliar voice.

(He can just imagine Allura whispering and promising in his ear, “His voice is to become very familiar soon in your favor.”) He doesn't know what Vision Allura is trying to tell him.

About two weeks after, he’s walking with Allura hand in hand to the reception desk of her studio. (Later she tells him the young ballerinas were all eyeing him. A breath would pass after that, and she would confess that the big ballerinos were looking even keener.)

Crystal, clear and fluid, Allura announces that “Keith and I were going to speak with Kolivan.”

The bored receptionist blinks up at them.

Keith looks over at Allura’s dimming face. He’s not super great at the people-reading thing, but even he knows that that's not her In the Mood face.

Brittlely Allura asks, “Miss, do you know where we might find him?”

The receptionist blinks a few more time, then glances over her shoulder. “Oh yeah,” she drones. “I put him in Antok’s office.” She scans Keith over. "You're Keith, right.”

“Yeah.”

She doesn’t even smile. “Great. He said he’s been ‘awaiting your arrival.’”

Keith and Allura look to each other. Shrug. Step away.

“Let’s not keep him waiting any longer, then.”

A week and a half after that conversation, Keith is invited to sit in through an entire rehearsal. Allura winks at him at every turn. (His stupid heart keeps racing every time.)

He sees her dance in the arms of other men, but it’s… not like that. Allura dances. She’s paid money to dance, Keith pays money to see her dance. She just happens to dance with men as well. Men that just don't happen to be him. If he had a real problem with it, there’s nothing stopping him from selling his equipment and take dancing classes, too.

While the dancers block on stage and work in full tilt, he learns the ropes and way around their company’s orchestra members. He pads in and around music stands.

When rehearsal ends, Kolvain clasps his hands with a bone-breaking grip. Keith chooses to take it positively. No worries here.

A few weeks still after rehearsal, he gets another call. He doesn't miss it this time. Allura is deliberately there with him this time. His palms are sweating this time.

But her smile is so wide it's making her sore and it’s so infectious he feels the frazzling of this tongue smoothing. Shiro’s there in spirit. His dad knows to check his calls later. He swipes to accept Kolivan’s call.

And then…

“ _You did it, Keith._ ”

Allura kisses him all over. His shivers shudder up and down his back and arms and body.

And then...

“ _Welcome abord, Keith._ ”

His music is no longer his. It’s no longer stuck to rot and wither on his studio’s floor. Keith’s music is _theirs_. It's meant to be shared.

It's everyone’s.

“I knew you could do it, Keith.”

When the season is over, Kolivan and Keith and Antok chit, chatter, and bicker over the upcoming show.

_All new choreography?_

_All new music._

_All new casting._

God, all new _everything._

The new show comes together in a whirlwind faster than Allura can foutte. His music is bought and revised and choreographed to faster than he can set his fingers to a chord.

His life is louder than the cymbals.

Allura’s smile is sweeter than the woodwinds.

Keith’s path finally comes together so well, his sight is so clear and he feels like he can see it better than through a floor-to-ceiling window.

Nyma still does Allura's make up. Allura goes out shopping with Keith to buy clothes “more fit for his role.” He can't say he doesn't feel _good_ in the suits. The ties sit comfortably. Lately, it's all Keith can do to stop counting the hours of sleep he gets at night.

Then a few months after that it's opening night.

Keith doesn't conduct the show yet, but stays in the pit to play his guitar. He sees Kolivan tap his stand to focus the players.

They’re about to play _his_ music.

From his place beneath, he stops his tuning to look up on the stage. His sight is obstructed, but his vision is ever keen in seeing his lover.

She’s about to dance _her_ choreography.

It’s freeing.

It’s good.

It’s right and it's _buckwild._

It feels too fast and too good to be true but it's everything they’ve been worked towards.

Allura now knows the full extent of her worth, and often uses herself as a bargaining chip. Keith’s music and her presence are always the playing pieces on the table. They become a packaged deal.

All around, Keith watches as their spaces get bigger. Keith moves up the chairs. He writes for her new music. He watches as she gets more stage presence. Her vanity gets brighter. Her costumes get better. Together they get new space for themselves, fervently agreeing her apartment and his studio are no longer going to cut it. They lived like peasants. Now like nobility. Soon, like royalty.

(Allur will laugh, “ _Shiro can be our butler if he’s lucky_.”)

Keith stays in the pit, looking up to his love that only she was brave enough to confront.

From the stage, Allura only has to flick her eyes down to see her love that she can never thank enough for agreeing to follow.

But he always reminds, _this was as much your choice as mine. There’s nowhere else he’d rather be._

There’s no better change he’s ever enjoyed.

Keith writes for her. She dances for him. When nights are too long and days too fast, they like to slow it down when they reconvene at home. They bring it back to the beginning.

Under low light and drifting music, Keith will open the windows to let in the city ambiance. While Allura warms up he’ll tune his guitar. She’ll stretch her legs. He’ll strum a cord. She’ll bend herself over. He’ll throw a wink her way. She’ll spin out to him; the show will begin.

At nights when nights are too long and days are too hard, Keith will strum over the hum and murmur of evening city life. He’ll play Allura something new.

Before Allura starts dancing, she’d push the rugs and the furniture out of the way. Then, after Keith’s ready, she’ll let the music take her over.

Around the apartment, all through the night they make beautiful music and art together. They both get lost. They both get found. Together, they coalesce and create something any company, orchestra or theatre could never pay enough to see.

Together they play the night away.

Together they make their home.

And it is good.

**Author's Note:**

> Reminder that next week I'll be orphaning a good majority of fics, so do what you gotta do


End file.
